A Fan
by Drabbles on a Paige
Summary: A fan of Sherlock tries to get his attention by torturing Molly, pulling him into a twisted game of hide and seek
1. Chapter 1

Molly could not see. She could barely breathe under this bag. She felt ropes were wrapped around her wrists and ankles onto a cold, metal chair.

"Hello..." She called out in a raspy voice. She had just come to, and she didn't know how long she had been unconscious.

"Oooh. Nice to see you are awake. I can finally call Sherlock. Don't mind me then."

Molly's chest tightened. She thought she might have a panic attack. She forced herself to breathe normally in the bag's tepid air.

Think. This man has kidnapped you to get to Sherlock, assuming he cared enough to find her himself. Oh God, what am I going to do?

Sherlock was holding back the deluge of emotions as he looked at Molly's wrecked apartment.

He was trying to think without letting his feelings getting in the way. Damnit Molly. What did you do? No, it couldn't have been anything she had done, it had to be connected with him. He added guilt to the list of things that clogged his mind.

Lestrade came up to him. "We can't find anything that substantial. The perp burned everything. We can't even get a hair."

Sherlock swallowed, "Yes, I didn't really expect you too. I would like to have a look around, just with John if you don't mind."

"Oh not this again, I can't let you break any more rules, Sherlock. I'm pushing them just letting you in here."

"Fine. Just make Anderson leave the room. That's all."

Lestrade sighed. He tapped Anderson on the shoulder and whispered something to him. Anderson started to protest but Lestrade nodded at Sherlock and whispered something again. Anderson reluctantly left the room.

Sherlock started to inspect the apartment, almost by the molecule. Silent, he stalked about the room, muttering to himself then and again. Lestrade and John watched with patience, while all the other investigators wondered why they had such an insufferable lunatic looking around there crime scene.

In the middle of his investigation, Sherlock's phone rang.

He looked at it, no caller ID. This is exactly what he had been fearing. Reluctantly, he pushed _accept_.

"...Hello?"

"Hello Sherlock, fancy me getting your attention finally. I knew something would do the trick."

Sherlock stalked out the door.

"Sherlock, wait-" Lestrade called.

But he was already gone.

"Do you have Molly?"

"Of course."

"What do you want then? Money? A favor? An autograph what?"

"Oh nothing at all. I just want to play a game."

Sherlock's eyes closed. Why did psychopaths always want to play games?

"Well then, what is the _game_you want to play" He spat

"I just want to see if you can find her."

Silence.

"That's it?"

"Yes. I am quite fascinated by you really, I guess you can call me a fan. I just want to see how you do it. Like... do you need clues, or is it just that the people you go after give them to you to make it more fun? Is it a _gift_ what you do? Or can it be learned? What-"

"Fine. Done. I'll come find her."

"Oh, well then. In such a hurry. Don't you even want to talk to her?"

Sherlock heard the phone being moved around, when she spoke he couldn't breathe.

"Sherlock?" _say__hello_"hello just wanted... to say hi... hope to... see you again.." Molly burst into tears in the last few words.

Sherlock's face screwed up. "I swear to God, if you hurt her you bastard-"

"Let's not be so hasty, shall we? Oh, just to let you know, If you don't find her in the next few days, she dies."

"What-"

"Lets just say, we don't really have much supplies here."

Sherlock breathed to compose himself. "So what do you want me to do then?"

"Like I said, find her. Without help from me. I warn you I am very meticulous in destroying evidence. I do have a few Cold Cases to brag about. Unless you want me to send you a clue? Maybe a toe, or a finger-"

"No, I think I can manage."

"Great. Can't wait to get started, just one more thing: You can't have anyone else's help."

"...Fine."

"Alright then. Let the game begin."


	2. Chapter 2

The line went dead

Sherlock held his phone tightly, not daring to look at it. His hands shook as he put it back into his pocket.

He quickly wiped the tears from his eyes as he thought about what to do. Finally, he walked back to Molly's apartment.

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell was that?" John said

"Nothing, just my brother. He wants me to work on another case, which I am not at liberty to discuss."

"Sherlock you can't just leave Molly-"

"It's very important. I'm sure Lestrade can handle it."

"Well," interrupted Lestrade, "Can you at least tell us what you found?"

"No, I have to work on it immediately. Very important. I really can't spare the time."

Sherlock knew this was a terrible lie, but it was the best he could come up with. Lestrade pulled him aside.

"Look, I think we all know who made that phone call. But, obviously it is very important that you don't let us know. You are the smartest man I know, and if there was a way around this you would find it. Just- just find her for us. I will cover you as best I can."

Sherlock's jaw tightened. He had been looking at the floor the whole time. He dared not answer.

Lestrade looked down in silence for a moment, then turned back to his team, "Alright, everyone keep searching the area. Anything you can find will be an improvement."

Sherlock thanked Lestrade silently. Then he started walking back to his car.

"I think, John, you will have to get a ride from someone else. I will be unavailable for the next few days.

John opened his mouth, but nodded and let Sherlock go.

When Sherlock finally got to his car, he hit the steering wheel. Tears started to fall again, but he quickly wiped them away. He sniffed loudly.

What the hell was he going to do?


	3. Chapter 3

SHerlock looked at his watch, already an hour had passed since he last looked at it. He felt like time was slipping away from him.

Molly was slipping away just as quickly, he knew she had had nothing to eat or drink in about 32 hours. He was running out of time, he knew she couldn't go on much longer with nothing to sustain her.

Sherlock put his head in his and and thought some more. He just couldn't get his normal process going, he could feel the stress of trying to find a loved one overtaking him. This was why he tried not to get emotionally attached.

But how could he not?

He had to _think_. Sherlock had made John stay at a friends house for the time being until he found Molly. He just couldn't risk letting something slip, or Molly would die.

How did he even know if Molly's alleged kidnapper really knew what he was doing? He had no way to be sure, but if this _fan_ of his knew where Molly lived, his phone number, and how his mind worked, he had to be doing something to keep an eye on Sherlock.

Also, he really didn't want to take the chance with Molly's life at stake.

Sherlock assessed the clues again. Which was to say, the lack of them. All he had was the type of petrol used, along with how and where the fire was started. All he knew about the petrol was that it had an unusually high amount of octane, guaranteeing the fire would burn for longer, and therefore destroy the most evidence.

Sherlock knew the person who used this petrol would have to know this, it was too much of a coincidence. The other chemicals were also interesting. They would make sure the fire burned high and hot. Sherlock was starting to suspect that he was dealing with some sort of scientist.

No, wait... not a scientist.

A firefighter.

Not just a firefighter, though. It was one who had been, pardon the pun, fired. Because, because because because he liked to start them. Sherlock knew there was a name for these kinds of people, but that didn't matter now. These kinds of firefighters would commit arson, so that they could be the alleged "heroes" of the scene. This was a bit of a stretch, but it made sense.

They would know about fire more than anybody. They had to, so they would be able to start it, then run back to their fire station in time to go for the call, they had to time it perfectly.

They would also know how to make it burn brighter, to seem more heroic. It wasn't much to go on, this was a tremendous stretch of the imagination, but it was all Sherlock had.

He really hoped he wasn't going in the wrong direction.

Molly's mouth was so dry. She didn't know how long it had been since she had water. Her stomach ached as well. Her breath came out raspily, and was not helped by the fact the bag was still over her head. She knew she was wasting away, and she couldn't last much longer.

_Please__Sherlock__, _she thought, please, _I__know__you__can__find__me_. _You__'__re__the_only_one__who__can__find__me__. _

The man who had taken her there had not said another word to her after their conversation with Sherlock. He could still be in the same room for all she knew. He better hope that he wouldn't be there when Sherlock found her.

Dead or alive.


End file.
